


All This Love

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clexa Week 2021, F/F, Meddling Kids, Multiple Timelines, Reunions, reunited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29821083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Twelve years ago, up-and-coming actress Clarke met a production assistant with aspirations of being a writer, Lexa, on the set of a film.  They fell for each other hard and fast, and dreamed of a future together.  Then life happened, and they found themselves on very different paths.When Clarke's daughter Madi finds a shoebox full of notes signed by a mysterious YNSSA, she has questions.  But is Clarke ready to answer them, and in doing so face the past she'd tried to forget and the future she never got to have?For Clexa Week 2021 - Day 3 - ReunitedNote: Rating and tags subject to change as the story progresses.You can see the associated moodboardhere.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 52
Kudos: 252
Collections: Clexaweek2021





	All This Love

"Mom, who's Yanissa?" 

Clarke looked up from the script she was reading, blinking hard to clear her vision after hours of staring at a computer screen. She tried not to think about the damage it was probably doing to her vision, and for what? It wasn't even her script. One of her clients had sent her a slew of sides – with permission, of course, and Clarke knew from experience that most of what was on the page would never make it to the screen – to help her prepare for upcoming auditions. 

Clarke couldn't remember the last time she'd been sent anything to audition for. Last year, maybe? The year before that? 

"Mom." 

She sighed. "Who?"

Madi rolled her eyes, a habit Clarke probably had herself to blame for, which had gotten exponentially worse the minute Madi's age had rolled over into the double digits. "That's what I'm asking _you_ ," she said. "Who's Yanissa? Or maybe Inssa?"

Clarke frowned. "No idea."

Her daughter's face scrunched up in another altogether too familiar expression these days. It was the look she wore when she thought Clarke was trying to hide something from her. Unfortunately for Clarke, Madi's bullshit detector was alarmingly accurate, but this time Clarke really didn't know what she was talking about. 

Madi shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers clenching and releasing, and Clarke could practically see the debate raging behind her eyes: push her luck and hope Clarke didn't get annoyed, or let it go. 

She was too much like her mother to let it go.

"Then why do you have notes from them?" she asked. 

It was Clarke's turn to frown, a crease forming between her brows that got deeper by the year. If she was still working someone would probably gently suggest that she see a dermatologist about it. By which they meant have toxins injected into her skin to keep her face from moving at all, because if you couldn't move, you couldn't wrinkle, and god forbid anyone ever look older than 25. "Sorry, Monkey," she said. "I really have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't call me Monkey," Madi groaned. "And how can you not know what I'm talking about? You have like a bajillion notes in your closet—"

"What were you doing in my closet?" Clarke interrupted. 

Madi bit her lip, her eyes shifting to the side, knowing there was no getting out of it. "Looking for your boots?" 

"What boots? My new boots that won't fit you and that I explicitly told you you're not allowed to borrow?" 

Madi had the good grace to look abashed, caught red-handed. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Anyway, I couldn't find them, but I did find a shoebox that had papers and stuff in it and there were a bunch of notes signed by Y-N-S-S-A."

Clarke's heart plummeted into her stomach, and for a second she thought she was going to be sick. 

She'd forgotten. How had she forgotten? 

Madi took a step closer, then another until she was in Clarke's personal space (but Clarke had waived the right to have personal space for at least 18 years when she got pregnant, hadn't she?). She wormed her way half into Clarke's lap, all wide-eyed worry. "Mom, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

_No,_ Clarke thought. _No, I am definitely not okay._

She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, wrapping her arms around Madi and pulling her all the way into her lap even though she was getting too big and most of the time would have found it unbearably embarrassing. She smoothed back a wayward curl, tucking it behind Madi's ear, and rubbed her thumb over the curve of her cheek. "It's not a who," she said. "Or... it is, but it's not a name. Y-N-S-S-A... Your Not-So-Secret Admirer." 

Madi's eyes widened. "Are they from my dad?" she asked, and Clarke hated the hope in her voice, or maybe the fact that she knew she would have to let her down. Madi didn't ask about her dad often, which was a good thing because not only did Clarke not want to talk about him, she couldn't. Legally. And the longer she could keep that particular detail to herself the better, because once she let it slip, it wouldn't take a genius to figure things out, and Madi was anything but stupid. 

"No," Clarke said. "Not from your dad." 

"Oh." Disappointment flickered across Madi's face, but it only lasted a second before she moved on. "Then who?" 

She was persistent – sometimes frustratingly so – and she wasn't going to let this go until Clarke told her what she wanted to know.

The question was: did Clarke want her to know?

Clarke knew the answer almost before she asked herself the question. Yes. Yes, she wanted Madi to know. She wanted the world to know, had always wanted the world to know, but it had been impossible then and it was impossible now. But she could tell _her_ world. Her daughter, who had maybe been the only thing that had gotten her through that time in her life.

She tightened her arms around Madi, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and did her best to smile. "Her name was Lexa," she said. "And she was the love of my life."

* * *

_**Twelve Years Ago**_

Clarke looked up from the script she was reading at the sharp rap of knuckles on her trailer door. She glanced at the clock – she wasn't due on set yet – and went to see who was there and what they wanted. Whoever and whatever it was, she hoped it wouldn't take long, because she still had lines to learn and she was starting to get a headache – and a wrinkle between her eyes, which she rubbed at as if it would erase it – from frowning in concentration.

She fought with the latch – the trailer was definitely on its last legs but probably all the budget allowed, and she should be grateful to have a trailer at all – rattling it to try and unstick it. "Sorry!" she called. "Just a—"

The door burst open so abruptly she nearly fell down the steps, and the person standing in front of it had to beat a hasty retreat to avoid being hit. She blinked owlishly at Clarke from behind dark-rimmed glasses. "Everything all right?" she asked. 

"The latch sticks," Clarke said with a shrug. "I didn't hit you, did it?"

The woman – barely more than a girl, really – shook her head. "I can have someone take a look at it," she said, then bit her lip. "Probably."

"It's not a big deal," Clarke said, trying to keep her tone breezy even as her heart slammed into her sternum, and not just because of the adrenaline rush of nearly hurtling head first into this woman's cleavage. Which was modest – unlike Clarke's own, which she alternately adored and despised, depending on her audience and what clothing she was trying to fit into – but pleasingly proportionate to her slender frame. 

Not that Clarke was staring at her chest. 

Shit, she was staring at her chest. 

She dragged her gaze up to the woman's eyes, which were partially obscured by the glare on her lenses. "Sorry," she said again, then realized she didn't have anything to apologize for, at least not that the woman knew of, unless she'd noticed Clarke staring, in which case Clarke owed her a better apology if she wanted to avoid being fired for sexual harassment. Not that she – and all women – didn't get it all the time from men who never had to face any consequences. 

She swallowed the bitter tirade that rose to the tip of her tongue and forced a smile. "Um, can I help you?"

"Oh! Right." A smile twitched at the corners of the woman's lips, which were—

_Get it together!_ , Clarke snapped at herself. _They're just lips! Don't be a creep!_

"New pages," the woman said, holding out a sheaf of paper to Clarke. 

Clarke reached out and took it, thumbing through them quickly. "For tomorrow, or...?"

"Today," the woman said, her smile twisting into a slight grimace. "Sorry." 

Clarke flipped through the pages again, seeing where changes were highlighted, and there were so damn many of them she couldn't quite contain a groan. "I guess I'd better get to it then," she said. 

"Good luck," the woman said, and turned and strode away, and Clarke forgot for a second that she needed to be relearning everything she'd only just started to get stuck in her brain, distracted by the sway of the woman's hips and the way her jeans hugged her—

And then she noticed one of her male costars staring too, an appreciative smirk on his face, and she yanked open her trailer door and went inside.

* * *

By the time Clarke got a break that afternoon she felt wrung out. Physically, mentally, emotionally drained, and she just needed a few minutes to herself to rest and get back together before facing the last few scenes on the schedule. If this were a big-budget production with the backing of a major studio, they wouldn't have to cram nearly as much into every day, but it was an indie film so everything was compressed into a much tighter timeframe. She liked the project – her character actually had substance instead of just being The Girlfriend (or worse, The Side Piece) – and she hoped it would open doors to bigger and better things, but that didn't make the long days any easier.

She stopped short as she approached her trailer and realized there was someone messing with the door. "Hey!" she yelled, forcing herself back into motion. "What—"

The person turned, and Clarke realized it was the woman from earlier. She had a screwdriver in her hand which she waved cheerfully at Clarke. "Hey," she said. "I think I've almost got it." She turned her attention back to the latch, twisting here and poking there, then grabbed a can of something from a tool belt slung around her hips and sprayed it. She tested it a few times and gave a small nod of satisfaction. "That should do it," she said. 

"You... fixed my door?" Clarke asked, as if the answer wasn't staring her right in the face. 

"Everyone else was busy," she said. "I had a few minutes, and I'm not completely useless with tools, so..." She shrugged. "Such a stereotype, I know, but here we are." She tucked the screwdriver into the belt and held out her hand. "I'm Lexa, by the way." 

"Clarke," Clarke said, reaching out to take it, and neither of them let go even after the standard interval for a handshake had long since elapsed. 

"I know," Lexa said, pointing with her free hand to the name taped to Clarke's door... except it was her character name, and Lexa only realized that belatedly. She gave a sheepish smile and a tiny shrug, and Clarke felt her heart start racing again. 

"So... what do you do?" Clarke asked. "Other than trailer door maintenance?" 

"I'm a PA," Lexa said. "So a little bit of everything. Whatever no one else wants to do, or doesn't have time to do, or thinks is beneath them." She rolled her eyes, which Clarke could now see were a clear pale green. "When people ask me what a production assistant does, I usually say, 'Whatever I'm told.'" 

"Me too," Clarke joked. "Except for me it's called 'taking direction'." 

Lexa smiled. "I guess I should let you go in," she said.

"I guess," Clarke said. 

"Right," Lexa said, when a long moment passed and neither of them moved. "I'm sure there's something I should be doing."

"Me too," Clarke said, although her earlier exhaustion had faded completely, as if Lexa's touch had charged her up. 

"If you need anything..." Lexa looked down, her lower lip dragging through her teeth. "Except toilets. I don't do toilets." Her eyes flicked up to Clarke's face as she grinned. "But anything else... I'm your girl."

"I'll remember that," Clarke said. 

"Good." Lexa finally let go of Clarke's hand, and Clarke had to clench her fingers into a fist to resist the urge to reach out and grab it again. "I'll see you around, Clarke." 

Clarke's jaw dropped open, but she found herself unable to say anything as her mind short-circuited at the way her name sounded coming from Lexa's lips. Which she was staring at again, until Lexa turned and sauntered away. 

The next day Lexa brought her coffee, even though Clarke could have gotten it from what passed for craft services, and Clarke said so... after saying thank you, of course. 

"That's not coffee," Lexa said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "I don't even drink coffee, and I know that's not coffee." 

"You don't drink coffee?" Clarke asked, in the same tone she might have asked, 'You don't like puppies?' which was an equally unthinkable sentiment. "How can you work in this industry and not drink coffee?"

"I know, right?" Lexa shrugged. "But my body and caffeine are _not_ friends. Freshman year of college, during finals my first semester, I made the mistake of drinking a Red Bull because I needed to stay awake to study. I ended up in the ER, thinking I was having a heart attack." 

"Damn," Clarke said. "Are you—" She stopped herself. Obviously Lexa was okay. She was standing in front of Clarke in perfect health. "Did you at least pass the final?"

Lexa grinned. "A hundred and five percent." 

"How do you—" Clarke shook her head. "You know what? I'm not going to ask. If anyone could find a way to get a better-than-perfect score on a test, it would be you." 

Clarke didn't realize her inside thoughts had become outside thoughts until Lexa's smile faltered. "I'm not perfect," she said. "Trust me, there are plenty of people who will tell you that I'm very far from perfect." 

Clarke resisted the urge to say she was sorry. Instead she reached out and wrapped her fingers around Lexa's wrist, sliding down to Lexa's hand. Relief flowed through her when Lexa's fingers curved around hers. "Well I think you're pretty awesome," she said. 

"You're not so bad yourself," Lexa said. She winked, which took any possible sting out of the words and set Clarke's nerves alight in more ways than one. "Enjoy your coffee," she added, giving Clarke's fingers a squeeze before letting go. 

"You too," Clarke said without thinking, even though Lexa had just told her she didn't drink coffee, and Clarke had no idea if the other cup Lexa held was her own. It might have been – probably was – for a member of the production team, who was probably getting more and more annoyed at its absence.

"Hot chocolate," Lexa said, "with extra whipped cream. And sprinkles." She grinned. "Bye, Clarke." 

The way she said Clarke's name... it killed her every time.

* * *

After that, Clarke seemed to run into her everywhere, and she started to get the feeling that it wasn't accidental. Any time she needed something, Lexa was there to get it for her. Sometimes she was there even before Clarke knew she needed something, only realizing after it was offered. She started looking for little things she could do to help Lexa out, but when she wasn't on set she had lines to learn (and yeah, okay, sometimes naps to take) and opportunities were few and far between.

The constant 'tweaks' (which sometimes took the form of complete rewrites of scenes) to the script were starting to take their toll, and when Clarke was handed what looked like an entirely new script for one of the climactic scenes for the film minutes after she'd finally gotten off book on the original version, she wanted to scream, or cry, or both. 

Lexa – the only messenger who could have brought her the pages that Clarke wouldn't want to shoot – must have seen it on her face because she didn't walk away. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked. 

"Not really," Clarke said. "Not unless you have some magic trick for memorizing ten new pages of dialogue." 

Lexa shook her head. "I could... go through it with you? If that would help. Sometimes it's easier to learn things if you say them out loud, and if you have someone to read the other person's lines so you have something to react to...?" 

Clarke started to say no, because she couldn't ask Lexa to do that. It definitely wasn't her job. But she wasn't asking; Lexa was offering. "You would do that?" she asked. "I know you're busy and there are probably a million other things you need to be doing, and—"

"I have a little while," Lexa said, and Clarke was so relieved and grateful she didn't question whether Lexa was maybe bending the truth. She just threw her arms around her, squeezing a startled laugh from Lexa throat. 

They went into Clarke's trailer and read through the words, slowly at first, and then more quickly and with more feeling as they started to settle into Clarke's head. She stood up, needing to move, and Lexa did too, so they weren't just reading but acting the roles, moving as the script and instinct dictated. And when they got to the part where the directions declared 'They kiss', well...

The pages drifted from their fingers as Lexa's hands came up to cup Clarke's face, and Clarke's landed on Lexa's hips. Their lips met, a barely there brush at first like neither of them was sure they should be doing this, or that the other wanted to be doing this, and then with more pressure, more passion, but no less tenderness as they realized yes, they wanted this, yes, this was what they should be doing, what they should have been doing from the moment they met, what they should continue to do for as long as possible, as often as possible.

Clarke wasn't sure who pulled away first. Maybe they both backed off at the same moment, just as they'd leaned in at the same moment, and Clarke wondered if she was wearing the same glazed look Lexa was, until she blinked it away and her lips tugged into the dopiest, most endearing smile Clarke had ever seen. It was all she could do not to kiss her again then and there. 

But they both had jobs to do, and someone would come knocking sooner rather than later and it probably wouldn't be good for either one of them if they were caught making out on the clock. They retrieved the pages of the script and ran through them one last time – complete with a second kiss that rocked Clarke's world just as much as, maybe more than, the first – before Lexa looked at the clock and sighed. "I should go," she said. "I hope I helped."

"You did," Clarke said. _More than you'll ever know._ Because she wasn't going to tell Lexa that she would be imagining her while kissing her slightly obnoxious costar... and probably looking for her after to get the taste of him off her lips. 

"If you decide you need to run through it a few more times before shooting tomorrow..." Lexa said, her look of wide-eyed innocence belied by the mischief sparkling in her eyes. 

Clarke licked her lips, then grabbed a pen from the little table and scrawled her room number at the hotel on the inside of Lexa's wrist. "I'm done at eight."

* * *

They didn't end up rehearsing the scene. Clarke didn't even bring home her script. She took Lexa out to dinner, and then back to her room to watch movies on Netflix, and their first date didn't end until the next morning when they were forced to part ways because Clarke had to get to hair and makeup and Lexa needed to do the morning coffee run.

When Clarke got to her trailer (after multiple compliments from the makeup artist about her 'rosy glow') she was surprised – but then again not that surprised – to find coffee waiting for her. Next to it was a bag of Hershey's kisses with a post-it note attached: Love, Your Not-So-Secret Admirer

* * *

_**Now**_

"If she was the love of your life, what happened?" Madi asked, snapping Clarke out of her reverie.

Clarke sighed. "Life happened." _You happened._ But she couldn't say that. Madi was the effect, not the cause. 

"Do you still love her?"

_More than anything._ But that wasn't true. Not exactly. Madi could never fill the Lexa-shaped hole in Clarke's heart – in her soul – but if Clarke had to choose between the two, she would pick her daughter every time. 

"Where is she now?" Madi wanted to know. "Why aren't you with her?"

Clarke tucked back a loose curl again, suddenly struck by a memory of doing the same to Lexa, and how had she forgotten? How had she ever forgotten? She tried – and failed – to smile. "It's a long story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, there's no reunion in this chapter. I knew it was going to be multi-chapter going in, and I ran out of time. 😆


End file.
